Hunters Academy
by Goth Immortal
Summary: Jobn enrolls Sam and Dean into an elite hunters academy to help 'safely' learn the ropes. But when Dean starts hanging around Christian, and eventually a bad crowd, he becomes the main attraction in a seige. Christian is not who she seems to be.
1. Supernatural Hunters Academy

Chapter One

"Dad, what is this school?" Dean asked, gazing at the mansion with a distasteful look. "You promise you aren't dropping us off at Paris Hilton's home? I swear, Dad, there's things that I wouldn't even do - and she tops the list."

The two other Winchesters snorted. "Yeah, right," John muttered under his breath. "This is a hunters academy."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "No, seriously," they said together. Even at the ages of nine and thirteen, they were already becoming mirror images of the others personality. "Dad, what is this place?"

"I just told you," John said, shrugging. "Honestly, I hadn't heard of this until a couple of weeks ago. Its a supernatural hunter academy. S.H.A. I thought this would be good for you two. Learn the ropes without getting hurt." It was mainly Dean he was talking to, who had a nasty habit of throwing himself in the line of fire in any predicament. "Its got the same subject as any normal school, too. But from what I heard, they take to the old school cane for troublemakers."

Dean grinned shamelessly.

"I want you especially, Dean, to behave yourself," John ordered, pointing a finger at his oldest with a stern expression. "Alright, lets go."

Sam and Dean went around to the trunk of the Impala and grabbed their bags - John had stocked up for them just for this, clothing, some hi-tech gadgets that the brochure Bobby had stuffed inside a book told them they need to have. Dean built his and Sammy's EMF readers from old walkman's that they didn't want, John becoming surprised at his eldest's knowledge for building things people twice his senior would study long and hard for.

To Dean, it felt like their father was just throwing them to a bunch of strangers and leaving them without contact. Abandoning them. First their mom had to leave, and now John was doing the same on his own free will. As he looked up at his father, he tried to read the older man, yet his father wasn't exactly the easiest person to read. Dean didn't voice what was on his mind, though. That was the kind of thing that got him in trouble, and the last thing he needed was for John to close off all contact entirely.

But John knew this was how Dean was going to react, having a distinct memory of Mary it was only natural for Dean to think he was being abandoned, which was why he decided he'd make it a daily - or weekly - habit of calling his boys. At least until they were completely settled in, then he could space out the time between the calls. He may be a tough hunter, but he wasn't one to neglect or mistreat his children.

A severe looking woman met them at the front desk, it looked like she was suffering a bad bout of PMS. Her hair was tied up into such a tight bun at her head, it looked like it had never been let down before. Her brown eyes were sharp and shifty, years worth of hunting having changed her. Dean noticed there was no frailty about her like there was with the old women outside the door. This was not a woman he would want to cross anytime soon.

"Yes?" she growled at John, who didn't look the least bit shocked at her bad manners. Her gold nameplate on the desk read; Professor Cornmally. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to sign Dean and Samuel Winchester up to the school," John spoke immediately, his minds eye playing a picture of him driving over the highest bridge he could find, and throwing her out of it. "I talked to the headmaster of the school, he told me to sign them up today."

Professor Cornmally leaned over the desk, watching Sam retreat behind Dean - who glared right back at the woman - with distasteful eyes.

"Alright," she said, shaking her head over Sam's reaction to her. She hated children. "Sign here, and here, Mr. Winchester." Professor Cornmally shoved a piece of paper under John's nose, throwing a pen along with it. "You better hurry up there, the new students are already getting assigned rooms."

John scribbled his name down, nodded to the woman, and walked his boys down the hall to where the new students were gathered. He knew already that he couldn't stay any longer, for he overstayed his welcome, and wordlessly embracing both his boys quickly and left, having already said his goodbyes in the old tactic of talking with just their eyes. Sam and Dean watched him leave, and then turned and dumped their bags where the sign written in bold letters instructed them to.

A more kinder, younger woman stood infront of a group of intergender age groups which ranged from three to nineteen. Apparently there wasn't much of an age limit on the people who wanted to join up. Professor Cornmally handed her a slip of paper as she passed, gazing distastefully at the children.

"Hello," the younger woman said, her voice soft - which would be harder to hear in any troubling situation. "My name is Miss Britt, but call me Amy for I'm not one of your teachers. Right, I'm going to call out a list of names, say 'present' when I call out your name."

It seemed to be an alphabetically ordered list of names, and naturally the Winchesters were last to be read off the long list - Sam the last one to squeak present, because Dean's first name had letters that came before his baby brother's. Amy smiled around at them all, and suddenly Dean knew why she wasn't a teacher; she was too nice. When she said 'not one of your teachers', she meant, 'not one of your hunting teachers'. She seemed the English Literature teacher type.

Amy led them through a weights room that was right off of the main entrance, some of the older students were sparring there with guns and machete's, being precise and careful about their movements; because although they were fighting, decapitations weren't something they were aiming for. Upon seeing a bunch of students, they ceased fighting for a moment, and then went back at it with double the vigour.

"This is the training room," Amy told them, "you will be spending most of your time in here before we send you out on practice hunts. This is the only room that you lot are allowed into around the clock."

Dean knew he was going to be spending a lot of time in there, himself. He got angry pretty quickly, and it was nice to know that there was a designated room for him to kick the crap out of anything he wanted. Sam, on the other hand, knew that the only times he was going to be slugging it out in there, was with his brother and just before those practice hunts she mentioned.

By the end of the tour, all of their legs were hurting except for Amy's, who seemed to have been doing this for a while now.

"Alright now, there are two dormitory buildings on the campus," she told the groups of students. "You're belongings have already been put into your rooms, so you don't have to worry. There is a building for the people under the age of eleven, and one for everyone else older than that. I need everyone eleven years younger to form an orderly line on my left, right now please."

Sam squeezed Dean's middle tightly for a moment, and then left to join the twenty other younger kids out of the fifty that were there. Dean didn't like the thought of having to separate from his younger brother, the old mantra to look out for him echoing around his head. Although he knew Sam was going to be safe here, it didn't matter. John had always counted on him to be there for Sam, and now these people thought they had the right to split them up? God fucking damn it.

Dean didn't say a word, though. They hadn't been in the school for longer than fifteen minutes and setting the record for getting kicked out the quickest wouldn't be a good thing to do. Especially not if John had to come trailing back to take them from what he told them was a good experience for them.

"Alright," Amy said, being joined by a buff male with curly brown hair and sharp eyes who stood infront of the pre-teens and teens with his arms folded over his chest. "You lot go with Professor Mackland."

Dean trudged after the group of students around his age, now this was definitely a professor - or a commando by the sheer size of him. This was the kind of person Dean classified as a steroid user. Nobody could get that big.

They were off to the dormitories on the west side of the school, Dean watched as Sam was led toward the east. Dean just wanted to kill somebody.

- - - -

Dean had a dorm room to himself, a second bed on the east wall above the window for anybody else who needed to use the room as well. It reminded the boy of those college movies he saw, and yet regretted. Beyond the window was a cemetary, cut off by a chain link fence with barbed wire up the top. This was the part where he wanted to call John to leave, did they really have students who were killed on campus? Help?

Closing the thick blue curtains, Dean turned around to inspect the room. There was one large desk fitted into the corner of the room near the door, used for schoolwork only - and there was a three inch long knife planted in the center for protection. Not that Dean hadn't brought his own ... that _was_ his knife. He shuddered at the thought of them rummaging through his bag. Dean took the bed near the window, kicking off his shoes and resting his socked feet on the dusty white carpet floor. The walls were a sickly green colour, the colour of phlegm in the morning.

He crashed down on the bed, bouncing up and down lightly, the bedsprings protesting with a loud groan that told the young hunter just how old this bed had to be. Everything in the room was old. It looked to be older than his father.

This was just flippin' great. Dean didn't even have a cellphone with him, and he didn't understand any of the rules here, this place was so far from being home that it wasn't funny, and all he wanted was to be in some backroad motel with his brother, waiting for his dad to come home from a hunt. That was the good life. This? This was like throwing Dean into a cage full of hell hounds, locking it, and throwing away the tree. Torture.

- - - -

Sam, on the other hand, was thrilled. Which wasn't a surprise, considering the youngster loved school. And considering that he didn't have a weapon on him, the school had provided him with a hunting knife that resembled Dean's.

His dorm room was a little bit more brighter, obviously to entertain the youngest students of the school. It was kind of nice to know that the teachers here cared about the little children, although Sam considered himself a lot more older and maturer than his birthdate had made out.

From his window, Sam could only just make out a headstone in the distance near the west dormitories. Now that was chilling. Maybe the school had a flaw, all of them do, yet Sam wasn't going to look a graveyard in the mouth - or headstones.

Closing the curtains he fell onto the bed and closed his eyes. If only Dean were here ...

* * *

So how was it? You want more? Please review!


	2. First Hunting Practice

**Chapter Two**

"Up! Get up!"

Dean bolted up in bed at midnight, immediately reaching out for his knife that he always kept stashed under his pillow. If someone was planning to burst in on him unawares, he'd kill them without a second thought. He was tired and not in the mood for this.

"Get up!" the sharp female voice persisted, getting angrier with every word.

It dawned on Dean then that this must be training or something. Training that they couldn't have waited to do at the crack of dawn, he hoped Sam wasn't getting treated this badly, he was only nine years old. The kid couldn't even pick up a brick without complaining about the effort. Grabbing his jeans and a jacket, Dean slung them on as fast as he could, stuffing his feet into his shoes with enough force to bend the backs. He got out into the hallway where other congregating teenagers were, the newer students mumbling through tiredness, while the others were wide awake having being used to this treatment.

"You will begin your practice hunt," Professor Cornmally told them, her voice nothing but harsh. And then she turned around and left, and only when she was out of the corridor was there movement.

Some of the older students who had been here a long time decided to lead the newer students through the school to the hunting area. Nobody had any weapons on them, and it became clear to Dean that the teachers would give you some when you got down there, most probably shunting most of the students off to the training room to practice hand to hand combat, or something.

"What exactly do they do?" Dean asked, wondering how the hell they would get a demon inside these walls. The brochure said that it was a maximum security school.

A tall, blond female answered him, being the closest one to him. "Basically, they pair some other student up against you - normally you'd end up fighting whoever's out there as if anyone was your enemy. Sometimes if your lucky you will only face the one."

Yes, because that helped loads. You faced one ... but you faced loads ... at the _same time_? Dean made a point never to ask that girl a question again. It turned out that he was in the sixth group to go out, and he could be waiting there a while, considering there were no time limits. Only when there was only one person standing did they send the next group out into the woodland area's around the academy.

So he hung out in the training room with a girl who was also in the sixth group. They didn't introduce themselves to each other. The black haired girl just launched her pocket knife at him suddenly, and that issued a challenge. She seemed to be just as hot headed as Dean was.

"You're not bad," she laughed, ducking the two knock out blows Dean delivered. "You were raised by a hunter ... weren't you?"

Dean grinned, performing a Russian legsweep that almost didn't work. "How did you guess?" he asked, taking the punch to the face in good grace. "Do I scream hunters child? Or army brat?"

"Bit of both, actually," she panted, shrugging. "Your dad was in the marines, wasn't he?"

That made Dean stop dead, taking an uppercut to the jaw that sent him reeling back into a treadmill. He stared at her with wide eyes, as she watched him with an innocent expression. "How did you know that? I never told anyone here about that!"

She continued to stare at him through chocolate brown, glittering eyes. "You screamed marine-child," she eventually told him, a devilish grin appearing on her face. "Now are you just going to stand there looking pansy-assed, or are you going to fight me?"

Dean's face blanched. "Did you just call me a pansy?"

She shrugged innocently. "Who? Me? You must have been mistaking me for someone else. I specifically called you a pansy-_ass_. Not a pansy. Now fight me!"

"Who are you?" Dean asked, an incredulous laugh forming at his quirked up lips. This girl was unbelieveable.

"The name is Christian Wakeland," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake, Dean did so almost a little bit too happily. "And who might my fearless challenger be? The one who still seems to be frightened to hit a girl?"

Dean chose to ignore that jab. "I'm Dean Winchester," he said, noticing right then that they were holding hands still, and quickly pulling his hand back out of hers. "How long have you been going to this school?"

"Birth," Christian spat, shaking her head in distaste. "My parents haven't been good parents - if they ever have been at all."

Dean winced sympathetically. "Sorry," he muttered, dipping his head as if that had been all his fault.

Christian gave him an odd look, her waist length, wavy black hair curling around her shoulders perfectly. "What are you apologising for?" she asked, confused. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Well, I just thought you would have liked someone apologising to you for being raised up in this place," Dean muttered, raising a hand up around the training room, which they were the only ones to occupy. "What the hell do you guys do out there?" he suddenly asked, seeing a beaten and completely bloodied guy being supported past the door by two of his friends. Friends who did not seem happy with it, either.

"Well," Christian began, biting her lip. "Sometimes its so dark out there that you don't see what your doing. You could be cutting someone's throat for all you know."

Dean grimaced, a sudden memory being called to the center-forth of his mind. "Is that the reason for the cemetary? People are killing aspiring hunters ... who'd do the world more good alive than dead?"

"No," she told him, sticking her head out the door to get a closer look. "The reason the cemetary is out there is because its about two hundred years old. Some say the school was built right over buried corpses, and then it gets haunted every once and a while."

He smiled stiffly. "Let me guess, they aren't all like Casper the Friendly Ghost?"

"Not really," Christian confirmed with a shrug. "But, hey, we all want to be great hunters here, what's a few ghosts compared to a demon? From whatever stray contact I've had with my dad, that's his favourite thing to hunt. I must have inherited that from my dad. What about yours?"

Dean shrugged a little, not sure if he really wanted to answer that, but he did. "My mom died by the 'hand' of a demon," he told her, watching her face reform into a look of sympathy. He didn't want that. "I was four years old at the time when she burned alive on the ceiling. My dad dragged me and my little brother into the hunt. Though I was told about it right away, my little brother only found out a month ago, and now he's here in the junior campus."

"I'm sorry," Christian muttered, ducking her head.

Almost immediately, Amy shouted from the halls, "Group six! Can I group six! Dean, Christian, Gabbie, Ethan and James out here now!" Dean and Christian left the training room, the rest of group six trailing down the halls. "Now," Amy spoke, her hair up in a pony-tail, "you must choose your weapon."

Dean immediately went for the Colt revolver handgun, that feeling more safe and secure in his hand, though he couldn't fathom the fact at shooting a human, and then changed at the very last minute to the rifle - something he could use to hit and block at the same time. Christian had the machete, which gave her a tougher demeanour. The rest had army-looking guns and knives that would do just as much damage as the rifle Dean had.

"Alright," Amy sighed, pushing open the door. "You may leave now."

- - - -

"Oh, my gosh!" Casey Trevors gasped, staring out the window of her room where almost everyone was crowded around, Sam wedged right up against her at the front. "They are starting again!" From her room, they had a clear view of the senior campus being let out into small groups at a time, each running into the woods.

Sam remained silent for a moment and then yelped, "Its my brother! Its Dean! He's my brother!" He pointed toward a sturdy male figure with the rifle, Sam would have known his brothers posture anywhere. "I can't believe he's really out there!"

"I have to warn you, Sam," Michael Evans said, a slight moan to his voice. "You might be witnessing a bloodbath out there, and your brother might be in it. I'm just saying, dude, that you could witness your brother get seriously injured. My sister went out there a couple of years ago, she's paralysed from the waist down. Can't hunt no more."

Sam bit his lip. "Not my brother," he whispered. "Do they do these hunting practice things with us?"

Ingrid shook her head, one year older than the youngest Winchester. "No, not yet they don't. When you turn twelve, your booted up into the senior campus and from what I've heard, its a lot more work compared to what we do here. With us, its more theory than practice - seniors get both."

Now that was something Sam didn't see his brother being able to do; theory. Dean was all for practical work, which was why every aspect of hunting was grasped so easily by the middle Winchester. Why Dean showed Sam up in every practical thing they did.

But Sam knew in his heart Dean was going to pull through this practical work even if it killed him. He watched a black haired girl swing a machete at Dean, to be blocked off by the rifle, and then the gun was smashed into her face, taking her down for a full five minutes before she could trust herself to get back up again.

Dean could do it; he always did.

- - - -

"Not bad, Dean!" Christian shouted as she got back up to her feet, knowing her jaw was going to be bruised in the morning. She immediately swung at someone who tried to get the drop on her from behind. Gabbie leapt back, shooting the gun out of pure instinct, grazing Christian's shoulder and the bullet sailed right into the tree.

Christian lowered the machete and kicked Gabbie right on the chin, snapping her head back almost too dangerously quickly. The blond girl stumbled back, grasping hold of a tree to support herself. Christian and Gabbie weren't exactly the best of friends - something that was known by the rest of the school, and became prominent now when Christian jabbed the hilt of the machete into the other girls face.

Gabbie went down and stayed down, knowing that they would come looking for her in the morning. They always did.

That turned Christian's attention to Ethan, who had battled against James and only just one, and immediately seeing the advancing girl with a sharp object in her hands, he immediately lured her out deeper into the woods.

Dean was left all alone then, deciding to take a jab into James' back to ensure the fifteen year old would stay on the ground. He then turned and ran into the trees after Ethan and Christian, deciding that he wasn't going to wait around for one of them to come back around like some lazy person. That would be un-hunter-like. So he took off at a sprint, only by the light of the nearby school did he manage to see where he was going, if only just. Occasionally, he would stumble over a patch of moss or a fallen branch, or whatnot. Other than that he was all good.

Christian and Ethan had abandoned their weapons and were slugging it out. It was a good thing this was not a test, because throwing down weapons for a hand-to-hand brawl would have chalked up for a well-earned zero. Dean put down his own gun as well, throwing a punch at Ethan, who went below the belt with a low blow to take Dean down to his knees, rendering him almost useless in the fight for minutes at a time.

"Cheat," Christian hissed. "You're not supposed to do that."

Ethan grinned darkly. "All is fair in a fight, Christy," he mocked, and then he was bent over double, Dean's arm having jerked upwards to deliver his own low blow, and Christian aimed a knock-out kick to the face that landed its mark. Ethan crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Now, now, Dean," Christian said in a singsong voice. "No bad feelings if I win."

"No bad feelings if you don't," Dean rebuked in good nature, going backwards and picking up their weapons, throwing her the machete. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to fight with the things we came in here with."

"No complaints here."

Christian attacked so fast Dean almost didn't see it, the flash of silver having only just alerted him in time as the machete swung right where his head had been before he ducked. He parried the next blow with his broadsided gun, hearing the metal chip into the gun a little. At the same time, they pushed their weight against their weapon, so their opponents' was forced back on them, except for the fact that they were very well matched that it went one way, and then came back another and so forth. Christian then caught Dean by surprise by sweeping his legs out from underneath him.

Dean landed on the ground with a dull thunk, little white stars bursting into his vision as his head bounced off the ground hard enough that a concussion could have been added to his new list; Dean's academy injuries. He yelped in surprise as Christian's weight smashed into him, wrestling with him into submission. The initial shock of landing on the ground like that had not worn off, and if it had, he might have had a chance to fight back and win this thing. But then the point of the machete came down over his heart.

And it was done.

Lights burst on from the academy, lights that reminded the pair of being at a college football game in the night time. And then the surrounding area was swarming with people ushering the aspiring hunters back into the safe walls of the academy. Christian pulled Dean to his feet, who was a little bit upset at being beaten by a female, yet it was such a small part that the rest of him didn't care.

"You okay with that?" Christian asked cautiously. "I mean, I did just beat your ass, and I'm a girl."

Dean snorted, a little more limp in her arms than what he would have liked, but that didn't matter. "Yeah," he assured. "I am okay with that. Maybe the marine-hunter's eldest should brush up on his fighting skills."

"You were actually pretty good," Christian told him with a tiny laugh. "Better than a lot of newbie's around here. I'm just better because I've lived here all my life; I'm used to their rules and tactics."

Pushing through the door, Christian recieved pats on the back and grins along with words telling her how "so freakin' awesome" she had been. She was modest about it, claiming that Dean would have beaten her if it hadn't been so dark. No doubt the woods of Montana got very dark, only the light from the academy had allowed them to see anything at all. Amy shouted for the seventh and final group as Christian and Dean walked away.

"Where's your room?" she asked, still maintaining a good grip on his elbow to ensure that he didn't topple over. His head hit the ground pretty hard, after all. "I'll have to check you over for a concussion."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "_Have_ to?"

Christian smiled, though it was faint enough that Dean almost didn't see it. "Yes, I have to. I'm the one who did it, and I will be the one to patch you up, as well." She spoke with such determination that not even Dean wanted to protest against. And he had to be the worst patient alive.

"Then I should be patching you up, too," he said, almost like issuing a challenge. "That bruise on your cheek is going black."

Christian waved that away. "Don't," she said. "I've had a lot worse injuries than this, you don't have to feel obligated to patch me up. You're new here - haven't even spent a day in these walls - I've been here my whole life. I can do that for myself."

"That used to be my mentality with my family," Dean admitted. "I could be broken, bleeding and dying and I'd still care for other people more than myself. But, Christian, I learned that sometimes its good to have some help. This is my room right here."

Taking his words to heart as she opened the door, Christian wondered why he even wanted to help her in the first place. She didn't sustain any other injuries than her normal scrapes, bruises and cuts along with the occasional twisted ankle. She was perfectly okay.

"Looks like someone doesn't want to unpack," Christian chuckled, staring around at the virtually empty room, except for the ruffled sheets and the bags at the foot of the bed. "Can't wait to get out of here already?"

Dean snorted, limping over to the bed and dropping down onto it. "No actually," he said, feeling the bed dip as it tried to hold up against his and Christian's combined weight. "I haven't exactly gotten the chance; I fell asleep almost as soon as I got in here."

Christian nodded, getting onto her knees to lean over Dean. "Close your eyes real tight for thirty seconds, and when I say I want you to open them up real quick. Okay?" He nodded, shutting his eyes tightly as she instructed. She counted to thirty in her head. "Alright, now."

Opening his eyes up quickly, both his pupils reacted at the same time, the way they should be. "Now that's a weird eye test." The two of them shared a light chuckle at the comment.

"Yeah," she muttered. "But it works. So maybe you could climb down off that high horse."

Dean pulled a face. "You look like a horse. Anyway, don't you think you should be getting some sleep?"

Christian shrugged, she had stayed up later than this before. "You haven't checked out your timetable for tomorrow, have you?" she asked, searching for any reason not to go back to her room and face Tessa Franchesca and the group of girls she n0rmally brought in to party.

"No, I haven't. I don't even know where it is," Dean admitted with a shrug.

Getting off the bed, Christian walked across the room to the set of drawers to the left of Dean near the long stretch of almost blank wall. Yanking open the top drawer, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been hidden inside.

"They have really weird places for these things," she told him, handing over the paper, and ghosting a hand over her bruise. "You have Latin first, or otherwise known as Language Studies. For you do three hours of Latin and English at the same time."

"This ought to suck," Dean joked. "Hey do you know when seniors and juniors get time to meet up? I have a little brother I want to see."

Christian shrugged. "No, not really. Classes are always on at different times. Juniors never have classes that run late at night, they are all doing theory work. We do theory and practical work. But I do think lunch is sheduled at the same time, as well. Maybe you can see your brother there."

It turns out that juniors and seniors did have lunch together in a big cafeteria that looked like it could hold a two hundred more people in it besides the eight hundred they already had. Sam was waiting at one of the nearest tables to the door, looking up everytime someone came through in the hopes of seeing his brother. After watching Dean fight last night, the youngest Winchester wanted to know that his brother was alright.

"Hey, Sammy," came the familiar voice finally, and Sam looked up to see his brother standing behind him, looking a little tired, but nonetheless okay. "How have your classes been?"

"Great," Sam said as Dean dumped his tray on the table and sat down. "I have Language next, I'm hoping to get good marks for my Latin, you always had me studying pretty hard on that one."

Dean smiled, and then yawned hugely. "That's great, Sammy."

"What about you? I saw you run out into the woods to fight last night, did you win?"

Before Dean could reply, Christian made her way over with her own tray, the bruise black in comparison to her pale skin. "No he didn't," she said, almost sadly. "He almost did though, I beat him just as he was going to."

No way, a girl beat his brother? He couldn't believe it. Looking at Dean's reddening face, Sam's jaw dropped. "You're kidding, right? You beat my brother? I can't even do that when dad made us spar together!"

Christian smiled, though her eyes flickered briefly to Dean. "If it hadn't have been so dark in there, he would have won. I can't wait to see what happens next Wednesday for practice hunting. You never know, Dean. You might kick my ass all around America if I'm not careful."

There she went being modest again, Dean didn't know why she would want to be. She kicked his ass, she should be gloating and telling them how could she had been and nobody would ever beat her. But there Christian sat, black hair, brown eyes, a petite thirteen year old that had the power of a man twice her age. And she was being modest about all that power she had under her belt. It was weird.

Instead of answering, Dean dug into his lunch, making quick work of the can of cola he had next to him - having to share with Sam, who went through his own can a little bit too quickly. When their lunch was done, Sam invited Dean ... and later on Christian ... to see his own dormitory block.

"Well," Dean muttered as he stared around at the place, almost stepping on a young child who thought it would be funny to crawl through his legs. "This certainly looks better than the phelgm coloured senior block on the west campus."

Sam shivered. "I hate it."

That was not surprising. Dean knew Sam always thought of himself as somewhat of an adult, and he wanted nothing more to age to twelve right then and there to become a senior, but he really didn't know what he had until they would move him out in two or three years.

"I know, Sam," he told his little brother sympathetically. "But I'm afraid you're just going to have to live with it."

He went through worse things than a dormitory room today.

**To Be Continued ...**

How is this going, guys? How much do you like it, I'm really excited about doing this story, I've had it in mind for a while and it has a hundred and four chapters along with an epilogue. Please tell me! Now I'm off to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire!

Reviews please! Merry Christmas!

__

Goth Immortal.


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